Weirdly enough, after asking about my favorite thing in Israel, and then about the food, the next question is inevitably about my hair. How it figures into the story, I'm not quite sure, but I happily answer.
Yes, I am letting the natural color grow out. Yes, that white is my natural color. And really you want to know how long I've had grey hair? Well, the first streak was discovered on my first visit to a hairdresser (a friend of my Mom's) when I was in fourth grade. I could even show you about where it was, but I know no one is really that curious! Occasionally, there is a follow-up question of "why?" That answer is a little more complicated.
I started having my hair colored not long after becoming a mom. I always looked tired. Heck, I always was tired! A friend suggested that the few stray grey hairs may be exaggerating the overall effect of tired mom-ness. And, actually, she was right. I did feel better about myself when I could look in the mirror and see freshness. After a while, it just got to be fun to change my color with the seasons, with the cut, with fashion and for pure experimentation. I remember one day at the theater, sitting on the stage with the staff at lunchtime, and the statement made to me: "Admit it. When you change the color of your hair, you change -- your mood, your character, who you present to the world." It was true.
The hard fact is, though, it was easy to do because I really didn't know myself. Getting to know me was frightening, and letting anyone else know me even more so. As I've journeyed toward me, toward my place in my own life, I've come to appreciate me more. The me that's real and whole and genuine. I still liked getting my hair colored -- a little redder in the winter, a little blonder for the summer. But something began to change. Little by little people would mention my mood or my health at odd times, telling me I looked ill or angry when I felt distinctly the opposite. One day it occurred to me that for some, my roots showing indicated something unsaid. I would mention it from time to time "No, it's just my roots showing." I began to see who knew me and who didn't, because my friends could see the erroneous correlation; those who knew me less well insisted it couldn't possibly be true, because "I didn't know you even colored your hair!" (Seriously?? How could anyone miss it if they saw me more than a couple times a year?)
Slowly I realized that I was fighting with my roots more than was reasonable, and something that started out as a fun thing to make me feel more confident and healthy, more like myself, was doing just the opposite. I was heading toward being obsessive. Years earlier I had read an article by a woman who had decided to go natural. She said the process took quite a while. About a year, actually. I was intrigued, but knew my natural color was still not anywhere near even. It took me nearly two years to work up the courage to ask my husband and my hairdresser what they thought. I also sent an informal text poll to some friends. Overwhelmingly, the men I asked gave positive responses. Many of the women were leery of the idea. Some asked if the question was financially motivated. (At first, on the surface, yes; but on the most basic level, no.) Nevertheless, I decided I was going to go for it, but the question was, How?
So we made a plan, my hairdresser and I, and now people ask about my hair. Especially when we're talking about Israel. People are funny. And, in all honesty, I have never felt more free. A couple of people have mentioned that the color is flattering to my skin tone and my eyes. My response: "I figure since God put me together in the first place, the combination must be reasonably good." It's so much more than that. So much more.
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Sunday, June 8, 2014
three minutes
Opening my notebook tonight, planning to jot some things down for book club (Mere Christianity, by CS Lewis), I came across some other words I'd worked on a while ago. I remembered at the time being frustrated and disappointed with them, but could not recall whether I had ever shared them. At a meeting, an 'assignment' was given to write up a 3-minute version of our own faith story. I know I never delivered it at the next meeting, but thought I might have posted it. Poking around my blog posts to see, I learned quite a bit about myself. Earlier this evening, I had asked for some clarity in pinpointing a question or two I need to ask. The posts helped a bit.
Anyway, the words. The request was for three minutes on my faith journey, a conversion story. I found a post about my frustration with it (the elusive three). Here is what I finished with. (You could say, where I gave up.) Today, I find it to be spot on in describing where I'd been!
At one time, I thought faith was something we "got," probably at birth. Either we had it or we didn't. And if that was the case, I was very blessed, inheriting faithful attitudes from my parents and grandparents, and attending Catholic school for 8 years.
In reality, I was a faith trust fund brat, never learning about or internalizing what I was exposed to. Never learning how things worked--mostly because I was afraid asking questions would make me sound dumb. I squandered my faith by petitioning all the time, thanking occasionally, and rarely making any real effort.
One day, in the middle of a personal crisis, I realized I was down to my last faith dollar--and I really needed help. I took that last dollar, and told God I was giving it to him. I had nothing to lose. Thy will be done. His will. And I breathed and I laughed, and he told me to keep the dollar and invest it.
I prayed; for the first time I really prayed. I spoke, I listened. I laughed, and I began to ask questions; to look for answers. I started to get personal with God, to think of Jesus as a friend, to remember that the Holy Spirit was in me.
It's not always easy. I'm not always the most attentive friend.* But every day I start fresh, looking toward God, knowing that Jesus is the best kind of friend: the kind that is always looking out for me, always ready to listen, always offering a hand to guide me. Prayer and learning are my best investments in faith. I still have tons of questions, and some of them have answers someone else can give me. Quite a few, the ones that offer the most in return, are the ones that require deeper searching--in my heart, walking with the Lord. And I've never felt so rich.
*I forget. I get stuck. I get scared.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
a daughter
A few weeks ago, I read a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche that I disagreed with:
"All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking."
The moment I read it, I wondered if the man had ever showered. That's where I do some of my best and clearest thinking. I was reminded of this mental transaction as I thought, and cried, in the shower today.
Lately I've been experiencing some deep inner conflict. In some ways it is very familiar, and in others, just plain strange. I don't know how best to deal with it, except by experiencing it--none of the methods I had used for much of my life have managed to eliminate these particular pangs, so I'm trying a different tactic: letting go. This means something different to me now. I grew up being told that 'letting go' means forgetting and never thinking about that thing, that feeling, that hurt ever again. The reason that has never worked for me is that it's incomplete.
My tearful thoughts this morning had to do with steps forward; with positive changes in my life. This deep inner conflict has coincided with the confirmation of a new job, a new direction, a dream coming true, to a certain extent. As a kid (and by that I mean at any point in my life before having to start helping my own kids with conflict, I think), I began to see good change as something to be wary of. With good change came discord, conflict, internal or physical pain unrelated to anything really happening to me. Sometimes it was small, and sometimes it was big, but in the end, what I learned was that good stuff comes at a price, and it was up to me to determine whether the unknown price was going to be worth it. It was like agreeing to sign a contract without first knowing the terms.
This morning I recognized what I had thought of as some kind of balance to be, in actuality, something trying to keep me from finding comfort. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis says, "In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth--only soft soap and wishful thinking to being with and, in the end, despair." (HarperOne, p.41) Turns out, this explains more of my inner turmoil than the turmoil ever can itself. I was looking for comfort (goodness, happiness, joy) in what I was doing, rather than in the doing itself. As a result, I was putting my trust in the wrong place.
A few weeks ago, I also had a conversation with my son about plans. We had stopped at Habitat for Humanity's local ReStore, and on the way home, I told him when I was his age, I had wanted to work for Habitat, or MakeAWish, or the Peace Corps. Unfortunately, I didn't know who to talk to to find out about these options as career choices. I only knew them as places to volunteer temporarily, whether regularly or intermittently. Years later, taking my management courses, I told my brother and my husband that I really felt like non-profit work was a far better fit for me than anything else. And now, as I look forward to beginning a job at our church, I find myself facing the same inner demons I tried to fight off at those times.
Eerily the same.
When I realized it this morning, I also realized the difference now in my life. Until recently, I have worked hard at living my life for me. Growing up, I was told I could grow up to be whatever I wanted to be; I could do whatever I set out to do. That I had potential in any direction I chose. But then I found roadblocks to every dream I ever wanted to make come true. I was being selfish, making my destiny, my purpose, my own instead of part of something bigger. That's why I lost the fight. Every time. I was trying to do it all myself, the way I had been taught.
This time, I'm reacting to a question that came from outside of me. I said yes to a question, a request, a call, that I didn't hear as much as I felt. I was drawn to the place I'm going, without knowing the whys and hows of my reason for being there. I'm going to a job for which I was chosen, rather than one that I would have chosen myself. About the new chapter I am curious and excited and joyful. And yet I have this pain that keeps pushing out in weird directions, making me question even my sanity at times. The difference? I'm not going to fight this demon alone. I've identified the need for others to be there, in my heart. I've started the process (difficult, uncomfortable and unfamiliar though it is) of letting them in, of cracking open the shell I've created around my heart.
I was never meant to be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up. I was meant to be what God wanted me to be. And that's what I'm working on.
"All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking."
The moment I read it, I wondered if the man had ever showered. That's where I do some of my best and clearest thinking. I was reminded of this mental transaction as I thought, and cried, in the shower today.
Lately I've been experiencing some deep inner conflict. In some ways it is very familiar, and in others, just plain strange. I don't know how best to deal with it, except by experiencing it--none of the methods I had used for much of my life have managed to eliminate these particular pangs, so I'm trying a different tactic: letting go. This means something different to me now. I grew up being told that 'letting go' means forgetting and never thinking about that thing, that feeling, that hurt ever again. The reason that has never worked for me is that it's incomplete.
My tearful thoughts this morning had to do with steps forward; with positive changes in my life. This deep inner conflict has coincided with the confirmation of a new job, a new direction, a dream coming true, to a certain extent. As a kid (and by that I mean at any point in my life before having to start helping my own kids with conflict, I think), I began to see good change as something to be wary of. With good change came discord, conflict, internal or physical pain unrelated to anything really happening to me. Sometimes it was small, and sometimes it was big, but in the end, what I learned was that good stuff comes at a price, and it was up to me to determine whether the unknown price was going to be worth it. It was like agreeing to sign a contract without first knowing the terms.
This morning I recognized what I had thought of as some kind of balance to be, in actuality, something trying to keep me from finding comfort. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis says, "In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth--only soft soap and wishful thinking to being with and, in the end, despair." (HarperOne, p.41) Turns out, this explains more of my inner turmoil than the turmoil ever can itself. I was looking for comfort (goodness, happiness, joy) in what I was doing, rather than in the doing itself. As a result, I was putting my trust in the wrong place.
A few weeks ago, I also had a conversation with my son about plans. We had stopped at Habitat for Humanity's local ReStore, and on the way home, I told him when I was his age, I had wanted to work for Habitat, or MakeAWish, or the Peace Corps. Unfortunately, I didn't know who to talk to to find out about these options as career choices. I only knew them as places to volunteer temporarily, whether regularly or intermittently. Years later, taking my management courses, I told my brother and my husband that I really felt like non-profit work was a far better fit for me than anything else. And now, as I look forward to beginning a job at our church, I find myself facing the same inner demons I tried to fight off at those times.
Eerily the same.
When I realized it this morning, I also realized the difference now in my life. Until recently, I have worked hard at living my life for me. Growing up, I was told I could grow up to be whatever I wanted to be; I could do whatever I set out to do. That I had potential in any direction I chose. But then I found roadblocks to every dream I ever wanted to make come true. I was being selfish, making my destiny, my purpose, my own instead of part of something bigger. That's why I lost the fight. Every time. I was trying to do it all myself, the way I had been taught.
This time, I'm reacting to a question that came from outside of me. I said yes to a question, a request, a call, that I didn't hear as much as I felt. I was drawn to the place I'm going, without knowing the whys and hows of my reason for being there. I'm going to a job for which I was chosen, rather than one that I would have chosen myself. About the new chapter I am curious and excited and joyful. And yet I have this pain that keeps pushing out in weird directions, making me question even my sanity at times. The difference? I'm not going to fight this demon alone. I've identified the need for others to be there, in my heart. I've started the process (difficult, uncomfortable and unfamiliar though it is) of letting them in, of cracking open the shell I've created around my heart.
I was never meant to be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up. I was meant to be what God wanted me to be. And that's what I'm working on.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Book Talk
Happy are you poor, by Thomas Dubay
Book Club discussion on May 13
What struck me most was
the consistent theme that a person in love can think of nothing else; the world
fades away and nothing matters. There is great truth in that sentiment! Each
day I find myself falling more and more deeply in love with God, with Jesus,
with my faith, our faith. And in that love, I find I can more
easily accept even that which I do not understand.
The next thing that made
me think hard about where I am is giving from my need, rather than just from my
excess. The author was right in pointing out that giving is easy when it's what
I can afford, or am willing to part with. Since coming across this point, I've
been more inclined to simply give. And I've been prepared to hand things over,
just for the asking. I've also offered food and shelter to strangers. Knowing
that it's outside my comfort a bit (personally and monetarily) has been far
outweighed by the knowledge that it's the right thing to do. God will provide,
in whatever way He sees the need.
That brings me to
another point I've been pondering. What I perceive to be my needs are not
necessarily what I truly need. My faith has deepened with the idea that there
is so very little that I need, as opposed to what I have to give. I've taken a
huge leap of faith (2 actually) and the fruits are already ripening. Opening my
heart to trust in the gifts I've been given, and to use and act upon them came
as much from learning about being poor in spirit as from any other book we've
read.
I also saw many
parallels with St. Therese, Thomas Merton, Bonhoeffer, St. Paul, and even
Andrew Comiskey's works. Each opening of the heart leading to another. Living
faith out loud, rather than quietly and alone. Giving from an emotional and
spiritual standpoint, as much as from a monetary (physical) one. I feel more
prepared to live as an example to our children, too, although I know there are
still some things I am not yet ready to give up or let go of. I'm willing to
admit and "own" them, though, and that is progress toward eventually
giving all.
In the giving, I've also
started to ask. There are things that money cannot buy, but that we shouldn't
do without--a shoulder to lean on, a heart to connect with, advice. These are
things I've always had a hard time asking for in my moments of need, though I give
them freely. I love that the concepts in this book, and our last, have given me
permission to need those things, and also to say so.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
scare the world
Goofing off, avoiding what I really want to do (and need to be doing) now that I feel better after a few days of being sick, I came across this. It struck me, because of how much I still sometimes fear being me. Not because I don't know who I am (which used to be the reason), but because of the reaction that typically follows.
Unfortunately, I think the "scare people" part is spot on. I scare people. I've never intended to. To be honest, I don't think they are actually afraid; I think they think they are because they don't know how else to define it. I make people uncomfortable. I'm an introvert who doesn't like to pretend. I can; I just don't like it, and I'm not very good at it. I don't like to talk about nothing, and I don't like to talk about people, and I don't like to talk about personal things (my own or others') with people I hardly know.
Bottom line: I'm a mom. I always have been, and I always will be. I have a job, but it's just a job to me, it's not a career. I suppose there's a possibility that there is plenty of time for a career for me, but in all honesty, being available for my kids -- and now my mom -- is far more important to me. When all of them got old enough to be alone for extended amounts of time, I was told that I would feel more gratified, more satisfied, happier, even, if I started working full time. Actually, the opposite is true. I feel far less appreciated, needed, capable now than I ever did as a stay at home mom. Both at home and in an office. Don't get me wrong; I like my job as much as anyone else. I just feel less connected to my family, and less able to finish anything that I start.
One day, I will be replaced at my job. It's inevitable, whether it's two months, two years, or two decades in the future. I will be replaced, and that is a good thing. Nothing can ever replace my family. More often than not, that's where I am in my thoughts when you see me; I'm with my family. Always. Or I'm praying -- that they know that I am not trying to find fulfillment somewhere else.
Unfortunately, I think the "scare people" part is spot on. I scare people. I've never intended to. To be honest, I don't think they are actually afraid; I think they think they are because they don't know how else to define it. I make people uncomfortable. I'm an introvert who doesn't like to pretend. I can; I just don't like it, and I'm not very good at it. I don't like to talk about nothing, and I don't like to talk about people, and I don't like to talk about personal things (my own or others') with people I hardly know.
Bottom line: I'm a mom. I always have been, and I always will be. I have a job, but it's just a job to me, it's not a career. I suppose there's a possibility that there is plenty of time for a career for me, but in all honesty, being available for my kids -- and now my mom -- is far more important to me. When all of them got old enough to be alone for extended amounts of time, I was told that I would feel more gratified, more satisfied, happier, even, if I started working full time. Actually, the opposite is true. I feel far less appreciated, needed, capable now than I ever did as a stay at home mom. Both at home and in an office. Don't get me wrong; I like my job as much as anyone else. I just feel less connected to my family, and less able to finish anything that I start.
One day, I will be replaced at my job. It's inevitable, whether it's two months, two years, or two decades in the future. I will be replaced, and that is a good thing. Nothing can ever replace my family. More often than not, that's where I am in my thoughts when you see me; I'm with my family. Always. Or I'm praying -- that they know that I am not trying to find fulfillment somewhere else.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
who and where
Much of this morning has been passed looking through some old papers I'd written in school, and old emails between my husband and myself. Although I was on a quest for particular information, I've come away with a better understanding of myself. And a realization that I've lost some of myself along the way. Some of the very qualities and traits that I needed and relied on to get my current job have been slowly stamped out by it. Even my reasons for interviewing for it have been obscured and lost in my mind. It's no wonder I've been conflicted recently.
A few weeks ago, I asked for some help with finding balance. I needed the help, the advice and the guidance. Asking was difficult; revealing even harder. But hardest of all has been the homework. Eventually, I went back through my blog posts, looking for that place in my heart that had the balance I was missing. In all honesty, it took me a long time to do the reading. I don't often read my own work. I write, I proof, I submit. Every reading plucks a heartstring, and I get uncomfortable in my own tears.
A dear friend asked me why my spirituality is not represented on my resume. I don't know. I'm still trying to determine how it fits into my life. My research this morning delved into myself, and I see that the problem I have is one of being turned inside out. As my spirituality has grown and developed, I have gotten more and more willing to admit that I have always kept my faith separate from the rest of my life, and I've looked for ways to fit my faith into my life, with varying degrees of success.
I've got it all wrong.
What I really need to work on is fitting the rest of my life into my faith. That's where my disconnect and my discontent stem from. My primary vocation is as a child of God. As that child, I have been called to be a mother. As a mother in today's society, I need to work. While I must give to my work what is expected of me, I must have a position that allows me to fulfill and live the obligations of my motherhood. I was an organizer, an overseer, a thank you note writer and card sender. Now I live for the weekend; the days off, away from work. When did I become someone who doesn't live life every day? Someone who can't even identify beautiful moments throughout the day, unless there is no office in sight? When did I begin to find learning on my own, at home, to be a burden, a chore, something to squeeze in around everything else?
I have a habit of forgetting that God loves me; or, rather, forgetting to see, observe, and revel in that Love in my daily life. Last week I mentioned it at a retreat, and also that when I'm caught off guard by a sunrise, a sunset, Venus shining in the evening sky, I remember, and am filled with a special kind of joy. Throughout this week, despite the fact that I've been avoiding speaking to Jesus as a friend, I have been presented with these moments that I haven't seen myself. Twice this week, people have told me that they thought of me when the saw the sunrise. Last night, just as I was going to tell Guy about them, we turned a corner, and before me was a sunset I was not expecting to see--it seemed too early, and the sky was still pretty bright. It was amazingly beautiful, and brought me to tears. Where have I gone?
A few weeks ago, I asked for some help with finding balance. I needed the help, the advice and the guidance. Asking was difficult; revealing even harder. But hardest of all has been the homework. Eventually, I went back through my blog posts, looking for that place in my heart that had the balance I was missing. In all honesty, it took me a long time to do the reading. I don't often read my own work. I write, I proof, I submit. Every reading plucks a heartstring, and I get uncomfortable in my own tears.
A dear friend asked me why my spirituality is not represented on my resume. I don't know. I'm still trying to determine how it fits into my life. My research this morning delved into myself, and I see that the problem I have is one of being turned inside out. As my spirituality has grown and developed, I have gotten more and more willing to admit that I have always kept my faith separate from the rest of my life, and I've looked for ways to fit my faith into my life, with varying degrees of success.
I've got it all wrong.
What I really need to work on is fitting the rest of my life into my faith. That's where my disconnect and my discontent stem from. My primary vocation is as a child of God. As that child, I have been called to be a mother. As a mother in today's society, I need to work. While I must give to my work what is expected of me, I must have a position that allows me to fulfill and live the obligations of my motherhood. I was an organizer, an overseer, a thank you note writer and card sender. Now I live for the weekend; the days off, away from work. When did I become someone who doesn't live life every day? Someone who can't even identify beautiful moments throughout the day, unless there is no office in sight? When did I begin to find learning on my own, at home, to be a burden, a chore, something to squeeze in around everything else?
I have a habit of forgetting that God loves me; or, rather, forgetting to see, observe, and revel in that Love in my daily life. Last week I mentioned it at a retreat, and also that when I'm caught off guard by a sunrise, a sunset, Venus shining in the evening sky, I remember, and am filled with a special kind of joy. Throughout this week, despite the fact that I've been avoiding speaking to Jesus as a friend, I have been presented with these moments that I haven't seen myself. Twice this week, people have told me that they thought of me when the saw the sunrise. Last night, just as I was going to tell Guy about them, we turned a corner, and before me was a sunset I was not expecting to see--it seemed too early, and the sky was still pretty bright. It was amazingly beautiful, and brought me to tears. Where have I gone?
Saturday, November 2, 2013
unmuddling my mind
A couple of months ago, I stopped with words. A few weeks ago, I had mentioned that I stopped writing, but now I realize that there was more than that. Words didn't come to write, and even reading lost its lifelong appeal. Again, I found myself pondering what had changed. So much, so little; and yet I can pinpoint a series of events or thoughts that precipitated the change--a series that happened mostly at the same time or in rapid succession. At some point I read something about blogging being nothing but narcissistic, regardless of the reasons we think we have. This occurred along with a general feeling that no one really, truly cares what I have to say in the grand scheme of things, nor should they. I didn't want anyone to--I just wanted to journal my journey. But it did make my wonder why I might feel the need to scream it out loud. I purposely walked away from my laptop; would only check websites on my phone (a rather cumbersome way to type when compared to a keyboard), would only write down single sentences (copied from others' works) into my datebook to record my state of mind for the day, would force my way through the reading I had found assigned to me. I thought it must be time for a change or something.
But change in interests is a far different thing from change in lifelong loves. You can take that as literally or as metaphorically as you'd like. The fact is, I don't remember ever not reading and writing. I don't ever remember forcing myself to do either--although I have backed myself up against deadlines quite a number of times! Here I was, dreading the thought of reading words, of having words in front of me. Why?
A little over a month ago, I was encouraged to go back through my old blog posts to find something I was looking for. That evening, I was given quite a bit of advice, and took all of it to heart and followed it, to my best ability. Except for the blog post advice. I intended to. A few times I sat down to. But I just couldn't do it. For a week or two, I made excuses to myself about being busy, having a slow computer, being busy, needing to clean or cook--or sleep--being busy. And about that third time telling myself I was far too busy to read my own work--after all, I had others' works that needed to be read for my personal development--I realized that I was scared.
Scared that I would find what I was looking for.
And when I realized that, some other things started happening in my life. Or in my head. It's sometimes hard to tell which. I remembered a few people telling me how touched or moved they were by my sharing my journey, and the people who had asked me for prayers--not advice, or guidance, or anything else from me; just my prayers. I had two strangers startle me into very present moments, offering me gifts of words, and pieces of paper. And I found a blog by an amazing young woman I once knew who shared her journey of faith throughout her pregnancy. Her baby lived about 8 hours: a miracle in every way. The strength of her faith, her willingness to share both her joys and sorrows was nothing short of inspiring. There was nothing narcissistic about it.
The fact is, my journey got kind of stalled for a while. And I wasn't sure how to share that. Sharing the good stuff is more fulfilling. Sharing the hard parts is when I've found the judgement starts, the comparisons, the "see? I told yous." I was stuck. I worked myself into a frenzy trying to do all the right stuff, the right way, at the right time. Instead of keeping my relationship with God open, I tried to force it to get better, bigger, more. As a result, I felt overwhelmed, overwrought, and ultimately, bored. In the past, when I'd get in a fix, I would write it out, pour out the words that came to mind and not really care how coherent it was. Part of my frenzy was in making sure everything I wrote made sense. I guess you could say that I worried that others were depending on me to get this right, and in that way, I did make myself the focus.
These days, I'm in a better place. I'm not bored, that's for sure. I've found the love of faith that I had been all but ignoring. I'm still not rolling along quite like I was, but I've been realizing that may be, at least in part, because I've not been writing it out. My laptop is still old and slow, but I know that if I do not make the time to attempt to work out my confusions, I will never leave them behind.
But change in interests is a far different thing from change in lifelong loves. You can take that as literally or as metaphorically as you'd like. The fact is, I don't remember ever not reading and writing. I don't ever remember forcing myself to do either--although I have backed myself up against deadlines quite a number of times! Here I was, dreading the thought of reading words, of having words in front of me. Why?
A little over a month ago, I was encouraged to go back through my old blog posts to find something I was looking for. That evening, I was given quite a bit of advice, and took all of it to heart and followed it, to my best ability. Except for the blog post advice. I intended to. A few times I sat down to. But I just couldn't do it. For a week or two, I made excuses to myself about being busy, having a slow computer, being busy, needing to clean or cook--or sleep--being busy. And about that third time telling myself I was far too busy to read my own work--after all, I had others' works that needed to be read for my personal development--I realized that I was scared.
Scared that I would find what I was looking for.
And when I realized that, some other things started happening in my life. Or in my head. It's sometimes hard to tell which. I remembered a few people telling me how touched or moved they were by my sharing my journey, and the people who had asked me for prayers--not advice, or guidance, or anything else from me; just my prayers. I had two strangers startle me into very present moments, offering me gifts of words, and pieces of paper. And I found a blog by an amazing young woman I once knew who shared her journey of faith throughout her pregnancy. Her baby lived about 8 hours: a miracle in every way. The strength of her faith, her willingness to share both her joys and sorrows was nothing short of inspiring. There was nothing narcissistic about it.
The fact is, my journey got kind of stalled for a while. And I wasn't sure how to share that. Sharing the good stuff is more fulfilling. Sharing the hard parts is when I've found the judgement starts, the comparisons, the "see? I told yous." I was stuck. I worked myself into a frenzy trying to do all the right stuff, the right way, at the right time. Instead of keeping my relationship with God open, I tried to force it to get better, bigger, more. As a result, I felt overwhelmed, overwrought, and ultimately, bored. In the past, when I'd get in a fix, I would write it out, pour out the words that came to mind and not really care how coherent it was. Part of my frenzy was in making sure everything I wrote made sense. I guess you could say that I worried that others were depending on me to get this right, and in that way, I did make myself the focus.
These days, I'm in a better place. I'm not bored, that's for sure. I've found the love of faith that I had been all but ignoring. I'm still not rolling along quite like I was, but I've been realizing that may be, at least in part, because I've not been writing it out. My laptop is still old and slow, but I know that if I do not make the time to attempt to work out my confusions, I will never leave them behind.
Friday, August 16, 2013
goals and expectations
Earlier this summer, I went for the weekend to a friend's for the weekend. She was having a party, and it was pretty neat to meet so many of her similarly "uncool" friends. There was a whole lot of laughter, good food (especially peanut butter cookies!), good wine, and even party favors for some of us. I felt very at home with my friend's friends, and along with all the other good stuff, and a few stray raindrops, there was great conversation. After all these weeks, there are still a couple of comments and questions that have stuck with me.
Two people, at separate times, when talking about family life, expressed surprise at how long I've been married. In fact, I actually was asked by one man, "You've been married since 1991? To the same person? For real?" I smiled and thanked him. I didn't even bother mentioning that it was early in 1991. It occurs to me that perhaps it's interesting to note that this comment and the other ("You've really been married for over 20 years?") were presented by men. I have no idea what that might mean, but I do know that for most of my life, I've been far more comfortable and relaxed talking with men or boys.
The other question that has stuck with me, making me think more than almost anything else this summer, was asked by another dear friend of mine who was there. She asked how we managed to get our teenage boys, four of them, to go to church with us regularly. The simple answer is that we just take them; we wake them in the morning, make sure they get dressed, and load them in the car. Afterwards, we pick up doughnuts or muffins, if we go in the morning, and sometimes go out for pizza, if we go on Saturday night. The simple answer regarding being married, to the same guy, for over half my life, is similar: there's not really been a choice in the matter.
Reality, however, is not always so easy. There have been plenty of mornings that we've all wondered what the point is in getting so frustrated herding the six of us out the door to pray and find peace. And a good many times when I have not really felt like I was going to get any message out of Mass because of being stressed. And despite the fact that I do make a choice each day, at some point, that I am still, and will remain, a happily married woman, there are times when I have to think a little longer about that question before I arrive at the same conclusion. Occasionally, being happy and/or pleasant is a difficult choice; throwing in the towel would be easier. You know that feeling, when you just want to say, "Why does it matter?"
The fact is, in my mind, there isn't really a "choice." I ask myself the question without ever expecting that the answer will be no. I wake up in the morning, and we wake the boys, without ever considering that there is an option about going together as a family. The interesting thing is, frequently when the morning push is particularly trying, and I figure there will be no room for anything to enter my heart, I end up being especially touched by the music, the readings, the homily, seeing a friend.....It's possible that on those occasions, I let my guard down so that I unknowingly let myself hear more in my heart. I certainly wouldn't recommend this as a "method," but I'm grateful for the persistence. (And not just mine.) Likewise, in our marriage, the stressful, cranky, or just plain frustrating times have often turned out to be the times when we've found the most strength. By choice. My point is, marriage and parenting are not easy, or simply defined, or predictable. Marriage and parenting require having a goal, and working toward that goal, consistently and constantly.
I've been married for over half my life, and been a parent for close to half my life. In that time, we've been to Church nearly every weekend, and had dinner together nearly every day. We've been to more concerts, shows, games, meets and matches than I can count. I've also broken up or gotten into the middle of more disagreements, arguments and fights than I care to remember. The goals, though, have always been the same: to raise these boys to be good men, and to love, honor and cherish each other as husband and wife. Each day dawns new, and our lives are our own; no one else can, or should, expect the life we live. Honestly, when I think about how many years, or days, or decades we've been married, I am just as surprised as those guys early in this story. But at the same time, I am proud of our perseverance. (And, truth be told, our competitiveness!) And quite thankful for those who have been our examples.
Goals and expectations.
Two people, at separate times, when talking about family life, expressed surprise at how long I've been married. In fact, I actually was asked by one man, "You've been married since 1991? To the same person? For real?" I smiled and thanked him. I didn't even bother mentioning that it was early in 1991. It occurs to me that perhaps it's interesting to note that this comment and the other ("You've really been married for over 20 years?") were presented by men. I have no idea what that might mean, but I do know that for most of my life, I've been far more comfortable and relaxed talking with men or boys.
The other question that has stuck with me, making me think more than almost anything else this summer, was asked by another dear friend of mine who was there. She asked how we managed to get our teenage boys, four of them, to go to church with us regularly. The simple answer is that we just take them; we wake them in the morning, make sure they get dressed, and load them in the car. Afterwards, we pick up doughnuts or muffins, if we go in the morning, and sometimes go out for pizza, if we go on Saturday night. The simple answer regarding being married, to the same guy, for over half my life, is similar: there's not really been a choice in the matter.
Reality, however, is not always so easy. There have been plenty of mornings that we've all wondered what the point is in getting so frustrated herding the six of us out the door to pray and find peace. And a good many times when I have not really felt like I was going to get any message out of Mass because of being stressed. And despite the fact that I do make a choice each day, at some point, that I am still, and will remain, a happily married woman, there are times when I have to think a little longer about that question before I arrive at the same conclusion. Occasionally, being happy and/or pleasant is a difficult choice; throwing in the towel would be easier. You know that feeling, when you just want to say, "Why does it matter?"
The fact is, in my mind, there isn't really a "choice." I ask myself the question without ever expecting that the answer will be no. I wake up in the morning, and we wake the boys, without ever considering that there is an option about going together as a family. The interesting thing is, frequently when the morning push is particularly trying, and I figure there will be no room for anything to enter my heart, I end up being especially touched by the music, the readings, the homily, seeing a friend.....It's possible that on those occasions, I let my guard down so that I unknowingly let myself hear more in my heart. I certainly wouldn't recommend this as a "method," but I'm grateful for the persistence. (And not just mine.) Likewise, in our marriage, the stressful, cranky, or just plain frustrating times have often turned out to be the times when we've found the most strength. By choice. My point is, marriage and parenting are not easy, or simply defined, or predictable. Marriage and parenting require having a goal, and working toward that goal, consistently and constantly.
I've been married for over half my life, and been a parent for close to half my life. In that time, we've been to Church nearly every weekend, and had dinner together nearly every day. We've been to more concerts, shows, games, meets and matches than I can count. I've also broken up or gotten into the middle of more disagreements, arguments and fights than I care to remember. The goals, though, have always been the same: to raise these boys to be good men, and to love, honor and cherish each other as husband and wife. Each day dawns new, and our lives are our own; no one else can, or should, expect the life we live. Honestly, when I think about how many years, or days, or decades we've been married, I am just as surprised as those guys early in this story. But at the same time, I am proud of our perseverance. (And, truth be told, our competitiveness!) And quite thankful for those who have been our examples.
Goals and expectations.
Monday, August 5, 2013
way to go
Yesterday morning dawned sunny and cool; just the type of mild weather I live for. For whatever reason, Guy and I were drawn together despite this disparity in our favorite temperatures. What we absolutely concur on is that a perfect day shouldn't be wasted, if at all possible. While enjoying coffee, muffins and the paper after Mass, and catching up on status updates, I mused that we should ask our neighbor if we could borrow a couple of kayaks and paddle around. (A friend had posted a picture that said, "Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy a kayak, and that's pretty darn close." My inspiration!) She said yes, and offered a couple of suggestions for a beginner like me, and by 11am, we were changed, packed and loading.
By the time we arrived at the river, the breeze had picked up to a wind, and I swear there were whitecaps on the Susquehanna. No smooth, glassy anything anywhere. Just a whole bunch of pokey looking peaks. After posting pictures of each other in celebration of our spur of the moment date, we asked a guy who was pulling out if it was worth going out. His response caught us both off guard--"No way!" he said. "It's really rough!" He went on to tell us that paddling upstream was the easy part; coming back and maneuvering into the boat ramp was quite challenging. He overshot it and got stuck in the reeds, then had to circle back around. We asked about a park about a half hour away, and he and a fisherman agreed that lake paddling would likely be our best water day.
Back into the truck went the kayaks, pfds and dry bags, and we headed north. We had a wonderful time, racing and bumping here and there, commenting repeatedly on the warm water. Getting stuck in the plant life and seeing more varieties of dragonfly than I ever thought there could be in one place. As we turned back, we pulled out our on-the-water-picnic of green grapes and the most luscious cucumber from a friend's garden, which we ate like an apple. It was a wonderful, relaxing, and rejuvenating day. After we got home, Guy and the boys grilled a steak.
Perhaps the best part of the day, though, happened much later. Four of us were sitting at the table, playing Euchre, when Son #2 came home from work. In his best 'oh, how I'm gonna love this' voice, he bellowed, "And where were you today?!" Laughingly, we told him we'd been kayaking. "I know! And how did I find out?? Because my brother saw it on Facebook! Is that how I'm supposed to find out where you are and what you're doing?!" He smiled and waved his arms around the whole while. "Don't you always tell us we have to text you or call you or otherwise let you know where we are?? I come home from mowing lawns, and do you think I knew where you were?? No!! My brother--my brother!--had to find out on Facebook, of all places!" Busted.
It was awesome! Not only did he remind us of the one thing we really did forget to do, but he also showed us something even more important. He listens to us. Despite the rolling eyes, the frustrated responses, the 'why should I?' responses, he actually hears what we tell him. And takes it to heart. I am thoroughly chastised. And proud of it.
By the time we arrived at the river, the breeze had picked up to a wind, and I swear there were whitecaps on the Susquehanna. No smooth, glassy anything anywhere. Just a whole bunch of pokey looking peaks. After posting pictures of each other in celebration of our spur of the moment date, we asked a guy who was pulling out if it was worth going out. His response caught us both off guard--"No way!" he said. "It's really rough!" He went on to tell us that paddling upstream was the easy part; coming back and maneuvering into the boat ramp was quite challenging. He overshot it and got stuck in the reeds, then had to circle back around. We asked about a park about a half hour away, and he and a fisherman agreed that lake paddling would likely be our best water day.
Back into the truck went the kayaks, pfds and dry bags, and we headed north. We had a wonderful time, racing and bumping here and there, commenting repeatedly on the warm water. Getting stuck in the plant life and seeing more varieties of dragonfly than I ever thought there could be in one place. As we turned back, we pulled out our on-the-water-picnic of green grapes and the most luscious cucumber from a friend's garden, which we ate like an apple. It was a wonderful, relaxing, and rejuvenating day. After we got home, Guy and the boys grilled a steak.
Perhaps the best part of the day, though, happened much later. Four of us were sitting at the table, playing Euchre, when Son #2 came home from work. In his best 'oh, how I'm gonna love this' voice, he bellowed, "And where were you today?!" Laughingly, we told him we'd been kayaking. "I know! And how did I find out?? Because my brother saw it on Facebook! Is that how I'm supposed to find out where you are and what you're doing?!" He smiled and waved his arms around the whole while. "Don't you always tell us we have to text you or call you or otherwise let you know where we are?? I come home from mowing lawns, and do you think I knew where you were?? No!! My brother--my brother!--had to find out on Facebook, of all places!" Busted.
It was awesome! Not only did he remind us of the one thing we really did forget to do, but he also showed us something even more important. He listens to us. Despite the rolling eyes, the frustrated responses, the 'why should I?' responses, he actually hears what we tell him. And takes it to heart. I am thoroughly chastised. And proud of it.
Friday, July 5, 2013
momma mia
Over the past few days, I have been getting gentle reminders of the importance of my Momma-ing. And the complexity of the job. All of these reminders are little bits of consolation related to wherever it is that I'm headed.
We've already had our discussion at Book Club about Thomas Merton, but I am still working my way through the book. Although I know I will never be "done" with this book, I have also not yet finished it. One of the very common threads I've run into (you might find something else, or I might the next time I read through it) is the gentle admonishment to be myself, to be the self I was created and intended to be. I know with certainty that a good part of that self is a mother, or mother figure. I also know that as Momma, I muddle through, partly relying on what I've learned from other mothers I admire, partly making it up as I go along, and often asking for guidance.
In the past, asking for guidance came more in the panicked moments when I felt at the end of my rope, stretched too thin, or terribly frightened. In the past year, I've put on a different spin. Nowadays, I ask daily--well, almost daily--for reminders that I am Momma for a reason, or at the very least, for help remembering that much of what I do is an example to my children. In the end, I'm probably asking for guidance, help and support just as much as I always did, but the end result is so much different! Whereas I used to find myself stressed, used up, tired, afraid--in reality, depressed--I now feel more strength to face the challenges, and actual joy that I have them to face. Being a mother is not easy; there are times when no one is happy with the outcome of making and following rules, or following through with consequences. But time and again, even my children have told me how important it is that we do just that.
There have been times when I've told myself there must be more to my life than being their mother. That when they are grown, I will need to find something else, and for that reason, I need to develop other aspects of me. I'm finding that the other aspects of "me" develop best in the context of my identity of "mother." Thomas Merton has helped me to realize just how far-reaching "vocation" is. In an essay on marriage [below], I found the most amazing joy that what I knew was another vocation of mine (marriage) was another shining facet of me. It sounds crazy, but I've lived with a misguided inclination to compartmentalize my roles in order to really show who I am, and, frankly, it's always made me quite uncomfortable in my skin! In actuality, the facets cannot be separated. A prism may separate the colors, but they are always united, touching and attached to each other. I am always, at once, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, employee, co-worker, student--all are me. Not simply pieces of me that I can pull out as I need them.
In this knowledge, I've found freedom. Freedom to choose growth and forward motion. Freedom to be the me I was created and intended to be. I still do not know precisely what that means beyond this moment, but I'm also free to follow the road where it leads. Building the road myself was getting me nowhere. Fast. Progress is still slow at times, but the view is far more spectacular when I can free myself of every last detail.
We would be better able to understand the beauty of the religious vocation if we remembered that marriage too is a vocation. The religious life is a special way of sanctity, reserved for comparatively few. The ordinary way to holiness and to the fullness of Christian life is marriage. Most men and women will become saints in the married state. And yet so many Christians who are not called to religious life or to the priesthood say of themselves: "I have no vocation!" What a mistake! They have a wonderful vocation, all the more wonderful because of its relative freedom and lack of formality. For the "society" which is the family loves beautifully by its own spontaneous inner laws. It has no need of codified rule and custom. Love is its rule, and all its customs are the living expression of deep and sincere affection. In a certain sense, the vocation to the married state is more desirable than any other, becuase of the fact that this spontaneity, this spirit of freedom and union in charity is so easily accessible, for the ordinary man, in family life. The formalism and artificiality which creep into religious communities are with difficulty admitted into the circle of a family where powerful human values triumphantly resist the incursions of falsity.
Married people, then, instead of lamenting their supposed "lack of vocation," should highly value the vocation they have actually received. They should thank God for the fact that this vocation, with all its responsibilites and hardships, is a safe and secure way to become holy without being warped or shriveled up by pious conventionalism. The married man and the mother of a Christian family, if they are faithful to their obligations, will fulfill a mission that is as great as it is consoling: that of bringing into the world and forming young souls capable of happiness and love, souls capable of sanctification and transformation in Christ. Living in close union with God the creator and source of life, they will understand better than others the mystery of His infinite fecundity, in which it is their privilege to share. Raising children in difficult social circumstances, they will enter perhaps more deeply into the mystery of divine Providence than others who, by their vow of poverty, ought ideally to be more directly dependent on God than they, but who in fact are never made to feel the anguish of insecurity.
No Man Is an Island, Thomas Merton, p. 152-153
We've already had our discussion at Book Club about Thomas Merton, but I am still working my way through the book. Although I know I will never be "done" with this book, I have also not yet finished it. One of the very common threads I've run into (you might find something else, or I might the next time I read through it) is the gentle admonishment to be myself, to be the self I was created and intended to be. I know with certainty that a good part of that self is a mother, or mother figure. I also know that as Momma, I muddle through, partly relying on what I've learned from other mothers I admire, partly making it up as I go along, and often asking for guidance.
In the past, asking for guidance came more in the panicked moments when I felt at the end of my rope, stretched too thin, or terribly frightened. In the past year, I've put on a different spin. Nowadays, I ask daily--well, almost daily--for reminders that I am Momma for a reason, or at the very least, for help remembering that much of what I do is an example to my children. In the end, I'm probably asking for guidance, help and support just as much as I always did, but the end result is so much different! Whereas I used to find myself stressed, used up, tired, afraid--in reality, depressed--I now feel more strength to face the challenges, and actual joy that I have them to face. Being a mother is not easy; there are times when no one is happy with the outcome of making and following rules, or following through with consequences. But time and again, even my children have told me how important it is that we do just that.
There have been times when I've told myself there must be more to my life than being their mother. That when they are grown, I will need to find something else, and for that reason, I need to develop other aspects of me. I'm finding that the other aspects of "me" develop best in the context of my identity of "mother." Thomas Merton has helped me to realize just how far-reaching "vocation" is. In an essay on marriage [below], I found the most amazing joy that what I knew was another vocation of mine (marriage) was another shining facet of me. It sounds crazy, but I've lived with a misguided inclination to compartmentalize my roles in order to really show who I am, and, frankly, it's always made me quite uncomfortable in my skin! In actuality, the facets cannot be separated. A prism may separate the colors, but they are always united, touching and attached to each other. I am always, at once, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, employee, co-worker, student--all are me. Not simply pieces of me that I can pull out as I need them.
In this knowledge, I've found freedom. Freedom to choose growth and forward motion. Freedom to be the me I was created and intended to be. I still do not know precisely what that means beyond this moment, but I'm also free to follow the road where it leads. Building the road myself was getting me nowhere. Fast. Progress is still slow at times, but the view is far more spectacular when I can free myself of every last detail.
We would be better able to understand the beauty of the religious vocation if we remembered that marriage too is a vocation. The religious life is a special way of sanctity, reserved for comparatively few. The ordinary way to holiness and to the fullness of Christian life is marriage. Most men and women will become saints in the married state. And yet so many Christians who are not called to religious life or to the priesthood say of themselves: "I have no vocation!" What a mistake! They have a wonderful vocation, all the more wonderful because of its relative freedom and lack of formality. For the "society" which is the family loves beautifully by its own spontaneous inner laws. It has no need of codified rule and custom. Love is its rule, and all its customs are the living expression of deep and sincere affection. In a certain sense, the vocation to the married state is more desirable than any other, becuase of the fact that this spontaneity, this spirit of freedom and union in charity is so easily accessible, for the ordinary man, in family life. The formalism and artificiality which creep into religious communities are with difficulty admitted into the circle of a family where powerful human values triumphantly resist the incursions of falsity.
Married people, then, instead of lamenting their supposed "lack of vocation," should highly value the vocation they have actually received. They should thank God for the fact that this vocation, with all its responsibilites and hardships, is a safe and secure way to become holy without being warped or shriveled up by pious conventionalism. The married man and the mother of a Christian family, if they are faithful to their obligations, will fulfill a mission that is as great as it is consoling: that of bringing into the world and forming young souls capable of happiness and love, souls capable of sanctification and transformation in Christ. Living in close union with God the creator and source of life, they will understand better than others the mystery of His infinite fecundity, in which it is their privilege to share. Raising children in difficult social circumstances, they will enter perhaps more deeply into the mystery of divine Providence than others who, by their vow of poverty, ought ideally to be more directly dependent on God than they, but who in fact are never made to feel the anguish of insecurity.
No Man Is an Island, Thomas Merton, p. 152-153
Thursday, May 2, 2013
ramble a bit
Last week at a book club (Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn--a book I found fascinating, but not particularly rewarding), a discussion question was presented:
The decision around the table was that this is never good marriage advice. I don't remember anyone even touching on the second part of the question. Although in the case of Nick and Amy, I find it to be appalling advice [*****SPOILER ALERT!!!!!***** She's a murderess and he is her depressed and self-centered husband], in general, I don't think there's anything wrong with going through the motions once in a while.
Before you get annoyed and turn the page, hear me out. Everyone gets bored. Everyone gets cranky. Everyone goes through times when they just don't feel like issuing forth any extra effort whatsoever. How many times have I (you) gone ahead and taken that fitness class, or pulled on a pair of running/walking shoes even though the mood wasn't right? I know for a fact there were many nights (and Saturday mornings!) when I taught dance that I just didn't want to leave my house, fight traffic, and deal with my class, but I did. And each one of those times, I told myself to fake it; to make it look to the people who were paying for me to be there as though I was having the time of my life. And I can say, in all honesty, almost every single time I went there to fake it, I had a better class than usual.
Making a habit of faking, or faking without knowing the reasons behind it, or faking without being unwilling to talk about it at some point is a bad idea. Living a lie is different from faking it until you make it. Nick went through the motions of loving Amy because he was literally afraid for his life. That's just stupid. Amy went through the motions because if she could make Nick love her, she would be amazing. That's just wrong (on a whole LOT of levels!!). That is NOT what I'm talking about here. Nor am I talking about lying, having an unfulfilling sex life, or suffering in silence from any offense, or abusive/toxic relationships.
What I'm talking about are those times when you realize that there's a reason you fell in love, and even though today it doesn't seem like it's there, it is, because it's still in your heart, and in the memory of your soul. Or when you realize that laziness has set in for whatever reason, and the habit is taking control. Those are the times when you have to keep in mind that a relationship is a living, breathing thing, in need of nurturing and even exercise. Those are the times when you have to dig out a smile when you don't feel like it, search the cobwebbed corners of your mind for a favorite shared memory, open yourself to possibility.
I got a CD from church about prayer in marriage. On it, Fulton Sheen talks about the inevitable "dry spells" of anything we, as humans, do for life. Sometimes they cause us to stop what no longer holds our interest, and other times we get frustrated by the seemingly sudden lack of interest. The decision is ours. If we are writers, we might call it 'writer's block,' runners, 'hitting a plateau.' As a dancer, I would take a class in another technique or from another teacher in order to jumpstart my slagging enthusiasm from time to time. In marriage, for a myriad of reasons, many people have the impression that everything should come up roses all the time, and if a dry spell hits, the magic must be gone and the marriage is over. Fulton Sheen said that those are the times when it's up to the spouse who is still flying high to carry the other through prayer and love. It was beautiful! Shortly after listening to the CD (and laughing through tears!) I saw a little ditty that I had seen before, but not paid much attention. Celebrating some huge number of years of marriage, a couple was asked their secret. The response: We never fell out of love at the same time.
We never fell out of love at the same time.
Isn't that beautiful?? Even in those dry spells--those times when he was making her crazy forgetting to _____ (fill in the blank), or when she was constantly ___________ (fill in the blank), the one still managed to love the other. To be in love with the other. It's not always easy. When we mentor engaged couples, we encourage them to keep their workbooks for those days when they need a reminder of the planning the wedding days, the getting read for a long marriage days.
Like any journey, there are times when concessions must be made. My brother says, "Don't say you don't care where we stop if you really don't want Chinese," not because he plans to stop for Chinese, but because sometimes when we think that something doesn't matter to us, we realize pretty quickly that it does, and that can ignite into an argument, or it can become an opportunity to fake it for a bit in order to ensure that love can continue on its course.
At one point, Amy quotes the advice "Fake it until you make it." Later, Nick writes, "We pretend to be in love, and we do the things we like to do when we're in love, and it feels almost like love sometimes, because we are so perfectly putting ourselves through the paces" (404).
Generally speaking, do you think this is good marriage advice? Do Nick and Amy disprove this advice?
The decision around the table was that this is never good marriage advice. I don't remember anyone even touching on the second part of the question. Although in the case of Nick and Amy, I find it to be appalling advice [*****SPOILER ALERT!!!!!***** She's a murderess and he is her depressed and self-centered husband], in general, I don't think there's anything wrong with going through the motions once in a while.
Before you get annoyed and turn the page, hear me out. Everyone gets bored. Everyone gets cranky. Everyone goes through times when they just don't feel like issuing forth any extra effort whatsoever. How many times have I (you) gone ahead and taken that fitness class, or pulled on a pair of running/walking shoes even though the mood wasn't right? I know for a fact there were many nights (and Saturday mornings!) when I taught dance that I just didn't want to leave my house, fight traffic, and deal with my class, but I did. And each one of those times, I told myself to fake it; to make it look to the people who were paying for me to be there as though I was having the time of my life. And I can say, in all honesty, almost every single time I went there to fake it, I had a better class than usual.
Making a habit of faking, or faking without knowing the reasons behind it, or faking without being unwilling to talk about it at some point is a bad idea. Living a lie is different from faking it until you make it. Nick went through the motions of loving Amy because he was literally afraid for his life. That's just stupid. Amy went through the motions because if she could make Nick love her, she would be amazing. That's just wrong (on a whole LOT of levels!!). That is NOT what I'm talking about here. Nor am I talking about lying, having an unfulfilling sex life, or suffering in silence from any offense, or abusive/toxic relationships.
What I'm talking about are those times when you realize that there's a reason you fell in love, and even though today it doesn't seem like it's there, it is, because it's still in your heart, and in the memory of your soul. Or when you realize that laziness has set in for whatever reason, and the habit is taking control. Those are the times when you have to keep in mind that a relationship is a living, breathing thing, in need of nurturing and even exercise. Those are the times when you have to dig out a smile when you don't feel like it, search the cobwebbed corners of your mind for a favorite shared memory, open yourself to possibility.
I got a CD from church about prayer in marriage. On it, Fulton Sheen talks about the inevitable "dry spells" of anything we, as humans, do for life. Sometimes they cause us to stop what no longer holds our interest, and other times we get frustrated by the seemingly sudden lack of interest. The decision is ours. If we are writers, we might call it 'writer's block,' runners, 'hitting a plateau.' As a dancer, I would take a class in another technique or from another teacher in order to jumpstart my slagging enthusiasm from time to time. In marriage, for a myriad of reasons, many people have the impression that everything should come up roses all the time, and if a dry spell hits, the magic must be gone and the marriage is over. Fulton Sheen said that those are the times when it's up to the spouse who is still flying high to carry the other through prayer and love. It was beautiful! Shortly after listening to the CD (and laughing through tears!) I saw a little ditty that I had seen before, but not paid much attention. Celebrating some huge number of years of marriage, a couple was asked their secret. The response: We never fell out of love at the same time.
We never fell out of love at the same time.
Isn't that beautiful?? Even in those dry spells--those times when he was making her crazy forgetting to _____ (fill in the blank), or when she was constantly ___________ (fill in the blank), the one still managed to love the other. To be in love with the other. It's not always easy. When we mentor engaged couples, we encourage them to keep their workbooks for those days when they need a reminder of the planning the wedding days, the getting read for a long marriage days.
Like any journey, there are times when concessions must be made. My brother says, "Don't say you don't care where we stop if you really don't want Chinese," not because he plans to stop for Chinese, but because sometimes when we think that something doesn't matter to us, we realize pretty quickly that it does, and that can ignite into an argument, or it can become an opportunity to fake it for a bit in order to ensure that love can continue on its course.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
no crystal ball
Yesterday, I sat in a room full of professionals wondering just what they all know, and how they got to where they are. I listened to a former co-worker talk about his new position, and still daydreaming about an interview in a faraway place.
It got me thinking about my own future, yet again. For so many years, I have thought about my life in parts and pieces--work, home, faith were all separate parts of my life, so naturally should be developed individually, right? I've been coming to realize that I would really prefer that all the facets of my person need to be cultivated in a common direction as one glorious gem, sparkling in the light. While this has been coming together in my mind, my heart is lagging a wee bit behind...a resistance to a mindset that I have a difficult time admitting to. Sitting in that room, I felt a little of that barrier crumbling (it felt good!), and let my mind wander into wishes and daydreams.
The result was a series of related thoughts about travel, learning, knowledge, trust and risk. I've been yearning for a train trip for the past year or so, and had been intrigued by the work of passenger service. I remembered that I want to look into flight lessons for our son, who recently asked how much they are, and I wondered when that motorcycle safety class is going to be offered next. But mostly I realized that I am ready to tackle something new. The following text exchange between me and my husband:
So, here's what I'm thinking: I wanna find a challenge.
What's that mean?
Not sure, exactly. Pondering.
Twenty minutes later, I got an email from a job posting site that I've subscribed to since 2010 or so:
"Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."
~Steve Jobs
I saw this as confirmation. I've been thinking so much lately, and working on coming to grips with what I really do feel is where I should be going. The words I hear in my mind surprise and thrill me, but are such a deviation from what I thought I wanted that I have a hard time qualifying them.
My status update last night:
Had a good day, and somewhere along the way, realized I'm ready for the challenge. I'm just not quite clear what that means yet.... :)
Encouragement and suggestions followed, and I know I always have support. What I know for sure is that I need to open myself a little bit more. In the meantime, I've scheduled my exam for work, which could lead to any manner of changes and challenges, and I will continue to pray and ponder. I'm anxious and antsy, and for the first time in a very long time, that results in excitement about the anticipation. Active involvement in this carving, cutting and shaping is making me feel so alive!
It got me thinking about my own future, yet again. For so many years, I have thought about my life in parts and pieces--work, home, faith were all separate parts of my life, so naturally should be developed individually, right? I've been coming to realize that I would really prefer that all the facets of my person need to be cultivated in a common direction as one glorious gem, sparkling in the light. While this has been coming together in my mind, my heart is lagging a wee bit behind...a resistance to a mindset that I have a difficult time admitting to. Sitting in that room, I felt a little of that barrier crumbling (it felt good!), and let my mind wander into wishes and daydreams.
The result was a series of related thoughts about travel, learning, knowledge, trust and risk. I've been yearning for a train trip for the past year or so, and had been intrigued by the work of passenger service. I remembered that I want to look into flight lessons for our son, who recently asked how much they are, and I wondered when that motorcycle safety class is going to be offered next. But mostly I realized that I am ready to tackle something new. The following text exchange between me and my husband:
So, here's what I'm thinking: I wanna find a challenge.
What's that mean?
Not sure, exactly. Pondering.
Twenty minutes later, I got an email from a job posting site that I've subscribed to since 2010 or so:
"Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."
~Steve Jobs
I saw this as confirmation. I've been thinking so much lately, and working on coming to grips with what I really do feel is where I should be going. The words I hear in my mind surprise and thrill me, but are such a deviation from what I thought I wanted that I have a hard time qualifying them.
My status update last night:
Had a good day, and somewhere along the way, realized I'm ready for the challenge. I'm just not quite clear what that means yet.... :)
Encouragement and suggestions followed, and I know I always have support. What I know for sure is that I need to open myself a little bit more. In the meantime, I've scheduled my exam for work, which could lead to any manner of changes and challenges, and I will continue to pray and ponder. I'm anxious and antsy, and for the first time in a very long time, that results in excitement about the anticipation. Active involvement in this carving, cutting and shaping is making me feel so alive!
Monday, April 15, 2013
from above
Confidence of man in man is the fundamental sanction that upholds every secure title to wealth.
I saw this while walking downtown today; it is carved along the top of the Finance building across from my building. A few minutes before, I read some comments from a couple of friends, and a couple of people I didn't even know, regarding Kermit Gosnell, his patients, his victims......These friends and I have been having a very difficult time processing the information, the news, the pain associated with the story.
At one time, I would have thought that those most affected by news of late term abortions could be pigeonholed: militantly religious, mostly. At one time, not even bothering to learn anything about any abortion procedures, let alone late term, I truly believed in the need for abortion to be legal, but only because I knew that women would have them--legal or not--and I foolishly believed that if they were legal, they would at least be done in a safe environment.
That was before I lost a baby of my own. That was after the two times I feared I was pregnant, but wasn't. For the most part, I simply avoided the topic at all costs. I put my head in the sand, and then busied myself with the family we later started. I've been having second thoughts about my younger idealistic fantasies about the ways of the world. Then I heard about this man in Philadelphia. Originally, I heard about him a few years ago: a short little something about a guy performing partial-birth abortions--delivering the head, severing the spinal cord, then removing (rather than delivering) the rest of the baby. Apparently, since most of the body was still inside the mother, he was not murdering the babies, he was simply performing a variation on a perfectly legal and acceptable procedure. I was discomfited, but naively believed that his was an isolated case. Further, since I never heard anything else about it, I allowed myself to believe that it was over; that everyone knew that it was awful, and that it wouldn't happen again.
About a week or so ago, a friend posted a story. For a couple of reasons, I decided I needed more proof, or for certain friends to verify.....for the news to pick up the story. I had forgotten about hearing it all before. Until those things happened, I wasn't even going to read the story. Could be about anything. Turns out, more than just the friends I hoped would clarify started posting. Then I not only read the story, but watched a documentary-in-progress, and realized that I had been fooled for so long about the clinical cleanliness of abortions. My world has been turned upside down, my soul cries, and there is a strange feeling in the pit of my being. I couldn't explain it, or find words to express the anguish--the first steps in healing and moving forward.
Then I read the comments, and saw the words (literally!) above, and I realized what I feel. I've lost confidence in my fellow man. Not the people near and dear to me that I can share this with, but the people who could have addressed this more clearly, made more noise. I live in the state of Pennsylvania, for Pete's sake, and never heard anything about the hearings happening just a couple of miles from my home. Nothing in the news, on 20/20, on the cover of some magazine at the grocery store. The mainstream media has instead been concerned with trivia.
As for the comments......my prayers are for the mothers, the patients, the families. I pray that the babies comfort those here suffering a loss, of any kind; that they have found peace in Heaven; that their presence there can somehow work toward restoring faith for someone. As a nation, as a world, I wonder if wealth is even a possible descriptor in the future. I am small; I am but one. I see a wealth of faith in my close friends, my family of the heart. I pray that each and every one of us can spread just one spark of faith, of confidence, to restore the wealth of human spirit.
The rest of the quote carved on the building:
The foundations of general prosperity are laid in the industry and integrity of the people.
I hope so.
Monday, April 8, 2013
wild blue yonder
My husband drops me off at work every morning, and picks me up at the end of the day. These little five-minute trips have become treasured time for us, and sometimes the face of everything can change in that span.
Roughly nine months out of the year, he is coaching 5-7 days a week, in addition to a full-time job and a couple of special volunteer positions that are dear to him. The three months he's off (not all in a row!) are also golden time that we have come to cherish. (It hasn't always been that way--we've known our share of crankiness and resentment, but we're grownng, learning, evolving. We've started to appreciate the blessing of the time we share.) Added to this juggling act is the time we need to nurture our own friendships and needs. It's not easy. (My Minute Meditation for today: Faith is not a cushion to rest easy upon. Faith takes work and dedication. Another one of those not so coincidental things!)
Anyway, yesterday, a friend and I made plans to have some girl time tonight. While I have been looking forward to it, I also know that Guy is off tonight. That wasn't going to stop me from going (he wouldn't have let me cancel, anyway!), but a small part of me felt bad for making plans on a night he's home. This morning, he asked what I thought of his asking a friend of his about going out tonight, too. I thought it a marvelous idea! Both of us need to work harder at cultivating our friendships in order to enrich our relationship with each other, and with our family. When he picked me up today, he said he'd asked his friend.
"Just read my messages!" Instead of going out later, while I would be out with the girls, he had an invitation to go flying. "When?" I asked.
In a flash, he was saying, "Be careful, you're on speaker!" They would meet after dropping me off at home. I mentioned that I was trying not to be jealous.
By the time we got home, conversing about the appointment he'd taken Mom to today, I realized there was not a bit of jealousy in me. I am ecstatic for him! He gets to spend some time with a good friend, doing something I don't think he's ever done before, and it's a gorgeous day. What more could I ask for my husband? Later, I will get to see the excitement in his eyes as he tells me all about it, and he'll get to relive my girls night with me, too.
As he pulled out of the driveway, I said a prayer of thanksgiving, and laughed with joy.
Roughly nine months out of the year, he is coaching 5-7 days a week, in addition to a full-time job and a couple of special volunteer positions that are dear to him. The three months he's off (not all in a row!) are also golden time that we have come to cherish. (It hasn't always been that way--we've known our share of crankiness and resentment, but we're grownng, learning, evolving. We've started to appreciate the blessing of the time we share.) Added to this juggling act is the time we need to nurture our own friendships and needs. It's not easy. (My Minute Meditation for today: Faith is not a cushion to rest easy upon. Faith takes work and dedication. Another one of those not so coincidental things!)
Anyway, yesterday, a friend and I made plans to have some girl time tonight. While I have been looking forward to it, I also know that Guy is off tonight. That wasn't going to stop me from going (he wouldn't have let me cancel, anyway!), but a small part of me felt bad for making plans on a night he's home. This morning, he asked what I thought of his asking a friend of his about going out tonight, too. I thought it a marvelous idea! Both of us need to work harder at cultivating our friendships in order to enrich our relationship with each other, and with our family. When he picked me up today, he said he'd asked his friend.
"Just read my messages!" Instead of going out later, while I would be out with the girls, he had an invitation to go flying. "When?" I asked.
In a flash, he was saying, "Be careful, you're on speaker!" They would meet after dropping me off at home. I mentioned that I was trying not to be jealous.
By the time we got home, conversing about the appointment he'd taken Mom to today, I realized there was not a bit of jealousy in me. I am ecstatic for him! He gets to spend some time with a good friend, doing something I don't think he's ever done before, and it's a gorgeous day. What more could I ask for my husband? Later, I will get to see the excitement in his eyes as he tells me all about it, and he'll get to relive my girls night with me, too.
As he pulled out of the driveway, I said a prayer of thanksgiving, and laughed with joy.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
turnips and kumquats
Lent has been quite a subject lately, for very obvious reasons, and has led to some conversations I've never had before, at least outside of my own family. Lent is something I've always had a tough time with, starting back in elementary school religion class. Fr. O'Brien would come in to talk with us before Ash Wednesday, trying to impress upon us the importance of giving up something significant to us as a Lenten sacrifice. And he always promised us suggestions. Unfortunately, the suggestions were always the same: to "give up candy, gum and pop."
As a kid, my first problem with this was that in our family we never called it "pop." A really, really minor problem, even in my kid mind, but it still made me just want to snicker at the whole idea. My second, and bigger problem--heck, my legitimate problem--was that I didn't like gum in the first place, and we hardly ever had candy or soda at our house, anyway. For a few years, I gave up candy, gum and pop simply because he suggested it, and he was our pastor, and so, in my mind, he must know what's best for us. Besides, if success is guaranteed, so are the associated blessings, right? (Remember, I was a kid in elementary school! I could have used some more personal guidance, I think, but I had no idea that I could ask about these things.)
At some point, I realized my flawed logic, and started to try discerning something more "right" to give up. Generally what happened was that I started thinking kind of late, and didn't really have a nebulous idea until about the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at which point, I would wonder if it was worth it if I'd already missed so many days, so I'd second guess what I'd chosen, and try to double up for the rest of the Lenten season. As a result, I usually ended up frustrated, both by my procrastination and the resulting unreasonable expectations of myself. In high school, I gave up whatever bad habit I may have developed in the previous months.
Then I went away to college, and when a friend asked about Lent, another friend and I declared that we were giving up slapping each other on the back. For whatever reason, we had developed the habit of slapping each other by surprise, and we both knew it hurt. It was probably the most difficult -- and beneficial! -- Lenten sacrifice I've ever made. Since then, there have been others that were hard to keep, but did not change me quite as much as a person: the year I gave up saying the words "Stop it!" to my kids; the year I gave up half-n-half in my coffee, and as a result nearly had to give up coffee.
The other day, I was involved in a quick conversation with a friend who said that perhaps his plan for Lent was a bit more than he could handle, so he was thinking of cutting back a little. Honestly, inside, I agreed, as I know through experience how much time he was committing, and how necessarily busy his life is. However, I also know my own track record with Lent, so I told him I'd been in his boots. I usually make my personal pledge, then worry that I've bitten off more than I can chew. Then I find myself negotiating with God to modify every week. In the end, Easter shows up, unexpectedly somehow, and I feel more guilty than purified because I just couldn't make up my mind.
A few years ago, in a homily or a discussion, the idea of doing instead of (or in addition to--sometimes, I admit, I hear what I want to use. I'm working on that!) giving up was presented. I've done much better with that. Instead of avoiding, or denying, or feeling the need to explain, I must find the time, make the intention to do something specific each and every day. These sacrifices of time have changed me each year since. Some stick more than others over the course of the year, but I feel more thankful for the effort for 47 days (that's another story, too! I don't do the whole "Sunday doesn't count" thing. These things I do, I intend and hope will become habits.....don't get me started!) Over the course of the season, I still find myself wanting to negotiate a bit, but I'm more able to tell myself that I should stay the course; that I do have the time and the energy to do what I've set out to do, if I just do it, without making it a production; just be true.
As a kid, my first problem with this was that in our family we never called it "pop." A really, really minor problem, even in my kid mind, but it still made me just want to snicker at the whole idea. My second, and bigger problem--heck, my legitimate problem--was that I didn't like gum in the first place, and we hardly ever had candy or soda at our house, anyway. For a few years, I gave up candy, gum and pop simply because he suggested it, and he was our pastor, and so, in my mind, he must know what's best for us. Besides, if success is guaranteed, so are the associated blessings, right? (Remember, I was a kid in elementary school! I could have used some more personal guidance, I think, but I had no idea that I could ask about these things.)
At some point, I realized my flawed logic, and started to try discerning something more "right" to give up. Generally what happened was that I started thinking kind of late, and didn't really have a nebulous idea until about the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at which point, I would wonder if it was worth it if I'd already missed so many days, so I'd second guess what I'd chosen, and try to double up for the rest of the Lenten season. As a result, I usually ended up frustrated, both by my procrastination and the resulting unreasonable expectations of myself. In high school, I gave up whatever bad habit I may have developed in the previous months.
Then I went away to college, and when a friend asked about Lent, another friend and I declared that we were giving up slapping each other on the back. For whatever reason, we had developed the habit of slapping each other by surprise, and we both knew it hurt. It was probably the most difficult -- and beneficial! -- Lenten sacrifice I've ever made. Since then, there have been others that were hard to keep, but did not change me quite as much as a person: the year I gave up saying the words "Stop it!" to my kids; the year I gave up half-n-half in my coffee, and as a result nearly had to give up coffee.
The other day, I was involved in a quick conversation with a friend who said that perhaps his plan for Lent was a bit more than he could handle, so he was thinking of cutting back a little. Honestly, inside, I agreed, as I know through experience how much time he was committing, and how necessarily busy his life is. However, I also know my own track record with Lent, so I told him I'd been in his boots. I usually make my personal pledge, then worry that I've bitten off more than I can chew. Then I find myself negotiating with God to modify every week. In the end, Easter shows up, unexpectedly somehow, and I feel more guilty than purified because I just couldn't make up my mind.
A few years ago, in a homily or a discussion, the idea of doing instead of (or in addition to--sometimes, I admit, I hear what I want to use. I'm working on that!) giving up was presented. I've done much better with that. Instead of avoiding, or denying, or feeling the need to explain, I must find the time, make the intention to do something specific each and every day. These sacrifices of time have changed me each year since. Some stick more than others over the course of the year, but I feel more thankful for the effort for 47 days (that's another story, too! I don't do the whole "Sunday doesn't count" thing. These things I do, I intend and hope will become habits.....don't get me started!) Over the course of the season, I still find myself wanting to negotiate a bit, but I'm more able to tell myself that I should stay the course; that I do have the time and the energy to do what I've set out to do, if I just do it, without making it a production; just be true.
Monday, January 28, 2013
little words
I had plans for this evening. I was going to paint my fingernails and then write while they dried. Then I was going to consider dusting this room, or one of the other ones that so desperately needs it (depending on your point of view. Isn't dust an art medium?). Those were my plans for my Monday, made on Sunday night, as I fell asleep, snuggled between my husband and a dog-furnace.
Plans change, though, and oftentimes, we have little to do with the outcome. School was closed, both the school our kids go to, and the school where swim practice takes place. That meant another evening all together--which has been wonderful all weekend, but really puts a damper on my writing time! With practice cancelled, it was decided that the Y was the next best choice. The menfolk packed up their swimming gear, and I packed my sneakers, and off we went. I ran, they swam, my nails are still naked....
But I feel great! Tomorrow, I will likely be a bit sore, as I haven't run quite that far, or with as much intensity, in quite a while. True, running alone felt odd--I haven't been out without dogs and my man in who knows how long!--but then again, running inside, over a climate controlled gym felt odd, too, so what the heck. I got sweaty, isn't that what matters? Oh! And I liked it (again) which makes me shake my head every time. Me, sweaty and happy. Who'd'a thunk it? Certainly not anyone who knew me 20 or 30 years ago! Yes, I got sweaty dancing, but that was different. (How? I'm really supposed to be able to answer that? Did you read the part that it was 20 or 30 years ago? There was an awful lot I didn't know 30 years ago. Hell, there's an awful lot I don't know now!)
Squeezing in words while I stink feels a little like cheating, but the keyboard was calling me; the screen sad in its darkness. These are not the words I intended to put down today. Those will wait until tomorrow, I think: they are about my experience this week with our retreat; or what I mean by 'mindwebs'. Maybe even about the discussion we had after Saturday's sermon, and the quote I liked so much: "No one lays down their life for a known lie."* There's even a chance that I'll paint my fingernails, write, then paint my toes and write some more! There's a lot in there, and I want to share it all!
In the meantime, there's a certain someone I have a standing date with each evening right around this time.
*Deacon Hall worded it slightly differently on paper, but I'm certain that this is what I heard. The meaning, I believe, is the same. And it resonated with me quite a bit.
Plans change, though, and oftentimes, we have little to do with the outcome. School was closed, both the school our kids go to, and the school where swim practice takes place. That meant another evening all together--which has been wonderful all weekend, but really puts a damper on my writing time! With practice cancelled, it was decided that the Y was the next best choice. The menfolk packed up their swimming gear, and I packed my sneakers, and off we went. I ran, they swam, my nails are still naked....
But I feel great! Tomorrow, I will likely be a bit sore, as I haven't run quite that far, or with as much intensity, in quite a while. True, running alone felt odd--I haven't been out without dogs and my man in who knows how long!--but then again, running inside, over a climate controlled gym felt odd, too, so what the heck. I got sweaty, isn't that what matters? Oh! And I liked it (again) which makes me shake my head every time. Me, sweaty and happy. Who'd'a thunk it? Certainly not anyone who knew me 20 or 30 years ago! Yes, I got sweaty dancing, but that was different. (How? I'm really supposed to be able to answer that? Did you read the part that it was 20 or 30 years ago? There was an awful lot I didn't know 30 years ago. Hell, there's an awful lot I don't know now!)
Squeezing in words while I stink feels a little like cheating, but the keyboard was calling me; the screen sad in its darkness. These are not the words I intended to put down today. Those will wait until tomorrow, I think: they are about my experience this week with our retreat; or what I mean by 'mindwebs'. Maybe even about the discussion we had after Saturday's sermon, and the quote I liked so much: "No one lays down their life for a known lie."* There's even a chance that I'll paint my fingernails, write, then paint my toes and write some more! There's a lot in there, and I want to share it all!
In the meantime, there's a certain someone I have a standing date with each evening right around this time.
*Deacon Hall worded it slightly differently on paper, but I'm certain that this is what I heard. The meaning, I believe, is the same. And it resonated with me quite a bit.
Friday, December 28, 2012
where the heart is
After a week away in the mountains, breathing crisp, fresh, cold air, we find ourselves refreshed, renewed, and ready for a new year. We're home.
Home.
Where you might find some dirt on the floor, dust on the furniture, clutter here and there; but where you will always find warm hearts, a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and a spirit of faith, hope and charity.
Always.
We have our faults, and we have our days, but we know where our priorities are: in the heart. We argue, we fuss, we stumble, but we forgive, we make up, we learn, we move on. We grow, continuously, which isn't always easy or pretty, but it's real, and we work pretty darn hard on it, simply because it's what we do.
The house is drafty, and has a to-do list a mile long, but none of it is major or life-threatening, but it's home. It's the place where we do our best, day to day. Happily. Joyfully. We fully realize that our priorities differ from others'; ours being the people in our lives, not the things. (Crazy, isn't it?)
Home.
Home.
Where you might find some dirt on the floor, dust on the furniture, clutter here and there; but where you will always find warm hearts, a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and a spirit of faith, hope and charity.
Always.
We have our faults, and we have our days, but we know where our priorities are: in the heart. We argue, we fuss, we stumble, but we forgive, we make up, we learn, we move on. We grow, continuously, which isn't always easy or pretty, but it's real, and we work pretty darn hard on it, simply because it's what we do.
The house is drafty, and has a to-do list a mile long, but none of it is major or life-threatening, but it's home. It's the place where we do our best, day to day. Happily. Joyfully. We fully realize that our priorities differ from others'; ours being the people in our lives, not the things. (Crazy, isn't it?)
Home.
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